


Deanna

by Thuri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, always-a-girl!Dean, girl!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2411264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/pseuds/Thuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one night stand</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deanna

When you first see her, she’s dancing. Her hips sway to the music, her head thrown back, long blonde hair catching the lights of the bar. She has a beer in one hand, an urban cowboy in the other, and she twirls and stomps along with him.

When you first talk to her, she’s grinning. Her lips curl up in promise as she looks you up and down, asks if she can buy you a drink. She’s very close, so close you can smell her even under the odor of stale beer. She smells like sweat, leather, fresh air and freedom. Her fingers slide against yours as she hands you your whiskey, warm and inviting.

When you first kiss her, she’s gasping. Her breath pants against yours, her hands sliding into your hair as she presses you up against the side of an old Impala. The car is still wet from the recent rain and the drops soak through your tank top, your skirt, but you don’t care, not when her mouth is so very hot.

When you first make love, she’s laughing. Her thighs tighten around your head with each burst, each broken by moans as you slide your tongue over her clit, as you delve deep into her, tasting salt and slick and musk. She encourages you on, her enjoyment making you even wetter.

When you first come on her tongue, she’s focused. Her mouth eats you out like she’s a woman possessed and you already know you’re ruined for another after this. She shows no hesitation, and you break under her again, and again, until you’re left sore and sleepy and sated.

When you first wake in her bed, she’s talking. Her voice murmurs, low and serious, with no hint of the teasing or flirtation it’d help before. You catch a few words--Sam, Cas, Bobby, hunting, Colt--before the call ends and she turns to you with a sigh.

When you last see her, she’s driving. Her hands are steady on the steering wheel of the Impala as she leaves you behind, heading out into the night. The room’s paid up through the morning, she’s said, leaving you with a kiss and thanks for the good time. You watch until the brake lights disappear around the corner, then return to bed. It still smells of you both, but the sheets are cold.

You don’t forget her.


End file.
